


rest in peace, camel one and camel two.

by pensrcool



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 03:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5612236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensrcool/pseuds/pensrcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ray had joined the Avengers, he’d been promised good pay, good vacation hours, and the best security in the entire world (which is funny, because HE'S the best security in the entire world. No one gets past the Brown Recluse, bitch). No one had said a goddamn word about babysitting the irradiated toddler who could smash helicopters, or warned him about said irradiated toddler’s more personable form. Ray was gonna sue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rest in peace, camel one and camel two.

 

Ray might actually be more tired than he's been in his entire life. Which he didn't think was possible, honestly. He would have thought Budapest would top everything, but right now he's eyeing a spot of gravel and trying to figure out how much he would regret it if he just lays down for the next twenty four hours. It's muddy, sure, but it just might be worth it. But then boots are squelching behind him, and Jack's there, breathing hard and covered in a mixture of sweat and blood and dirt. His usual red white and blue is now more of a red blue and brown. He wonders if Jack slipped, or got shoved.

"Big guy's still out there." He says, nodding towards a grove of trees. As if on cue, one of them violently shakes before tipping out of sight, and Ray sighs.

"I know it's been a long day," Jack continues, "We all want to go home. If you're up for getting him, things would go a lot faster."

And Ray doesn't say anything, because he seriously doubts that. He knows that he's going to grab Ryan in five minutes, and then they're going to come back to Michael and Gavin dicking around while Jack gets ready to fly out and plays nurse, holding down a squirming Gavin to treat a slash down his shoulder, frowning at Michael's forehead gash he refuses to clean because he claims he has a superior alien immune system. They'll be lucky if they take off in an hour. But he nods, wills some vestiges of adrenaline to course through his body, hopes it's enough for a quarter mile trek, and grins.

"Dude, I will do everything in my power to make sure I'm reunited with the teriyaki chicken in my fridge as soon as possible."

Jack smiles at him then, a bright, charming, thing, and walks off in the direction of their plane.

It hadn’t always been like this. There was a meeting, way back when, about how to get Hulk to shrink down. Ray had played his DS while the grownups talked, and Ryan had spent his time quietly offering input and looking extremely embarrassed about the whole thing. Eventually, it was decided that Michael and Gavin were the only people suitable, more for how many hits they could take if things went badly than anything else.

Things went badly.

Ray remembers Michael’s try. He timed it. Michael made a minute and thirty nine seconds worth of an attempt at a soothing voice, which crackled back over their earpieces before he had grunted and yelled “Oh, _shit_!”, which was quickly followed by an incredulous, “The motherfucker punched me!” Then he’d swung Mogar around, thrown it upwards, and flown the fuck out of there. Later, Ryan had apologized profusely and asked that they shut the entire thing down before anyone else got hurt. Michael had waved off his apology and complimented his right hook, and Gavin, though he looked peaky, agreed to still give it a try.

That had gone… slightly better. It had worked, in a way. Not the way anyone wanted, but still. The way Gavin had explained it, Hulk took a swing at him, so he hit him back, and then Hulk hit him again, and then Gavin hit him a lot. When Gavin knocked him out, he changed back, and Gavin had to sheepishly explain that he’d punched him into unconsciousness and back into a person. That got labeled a last resort, and they were back to the drawing board.

Ray’s attempt was an entirely selfish, not very smart, last ditch effort to save his own life. He had gotten shot, and like most wounds that tear a hole through your flesh, it hurt like hell. He might have been panicking a little bit. He wasn’t stupid, though. He picked a spot clear of fire, ripped a good chunk of sleeve off his shirt and did what he needed to do. And then the Hulk showed up.

“Hey,” Ray breathed, able to hear how ragged he sounded. He grimaced, adjusted the hands keeping pressure on the wound, then looked the Jolly Green Giant in the eyes, willing his thrill of terror down for the sake of the brand new hole in him that needed to leak as little blood as possible.

“So, as much as I enjoy your company-which I really do, by the way, big fan-your hands look a bit big for fixing this up,” he said, gesturing towards the mess that was his stomach.

“And, you know, any other time, I’d be willing to chat, but I kinda need Dr. Haywood for this. You mind giving him back?”

The thing in front of him didn’t move, just continued staring at him. Then he snorted and jerked his head, walking away, as Ray’s heart sunk. Great. This is how he died. He shifted slightly, letting out a hiss of pain as he pulled a hand away to mess with his broken earpiece, hoping that some miracle would occur and he’d be able to radio for help. And then he hears the fucking footsteps. From behind him, of course, because God forbid anything be straightforward and easy. He freezes, then whips out the pistol on his hip, ready to train it on anyone in his line of sight. The footsteps continue, obviously headed towards him, and he throws caution to the wind.

“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you. In fact, I’d turn around right now if I didn’t want to end up with a bullet in my brain.”

The footsteps stop, and there’s a sigh of relief, which makes zero sense. Ray keeps his gun up.

“Thank god I found you. Jesus, that looks bad. Have you called somebody yet? Do they know where to find you?”

Ryan. It’s Ryan, he realizes dazedly, as he kneels over Ray, brow furrowed as he gingerly touches the wound and continues to ask questions. Huh. Maybe he’s not gonna die after all.

\---

He doesn’t die. He spends some time on bedrest, and the others float in and out and tell him they’re glad he’s still around, and Ryan appoints himself his head doctor. He sits by Ray while he’s delirious on pain meds, and when he’s bored, and only slips out of the room when Ray falls asleep. Sometime in between the gap when Ray wakes up and when Ryan walks in, Jack’s there. He’s sitting in a chair, holding a paper bag in one hand, a styrofoam cup in the other.

“Morning. I brought breakfast.”

He hands over the bag, and Ray pulls out a plastic bottle of orange juice and a bagel with egg and bacon shoved in the middle of it.

“I will marry you right here. On the spot. Just grab some witnesses,” he says in way of thanks, taking the first bite.

“I’m going to pass on the marriage. I do have a favor you could do me, though.”

Ray’s smile stiffens for half a second before he looks just the same as before, and he shrugs.

“If you want me to kill a guy, it’s going to be a while. I can’t exactly do it from here, and walking hurts.”

Jack shakes his head, leaning in.

“I want to know about what happened when you got shot. More specifically, I want to know what you said to get Ryan to be Ryan.”

“I asked nicely. Said it was sort of urgent that I see the good doctor, as much as I would love to hang out with the other guy.”

“And it worked?”

“And it worked.”

Jack makes a noise in the back of his throat and takes a long sip of his coffee. Ray half expects him to start stroking his beard. A long moment follows where Ray eats and Jack looks contemplative, and then Jack breaks the silence.

“Well, you didn’t get punched. And you didn’t have to punch him out. I’d call that a success.”

Ray nods, inspects the nutrition facts on his bottle of juice like he cares, and waits for Jack to get to the point.

“Do you think you could pull off a repeat performance?”

Honestly, he doesn't know. But Jack has a good point. Ray was about 100% more successful than both Michael and Gavin. Maybe there's something to that. Besides, he's a master of winging it.                                                                                                                                                                                    

He's pretty sure Geoff’s silently vetting him, after he officially becomes the Ryan Retriever. Gavin is not so silently doing the same thing, cornering Ryan and asking why _Ray_ of all people, what happened to Love and Stuff, is Gavin not _calming_ enough for him? Michael shuts him up, thank god, but in Ray’s opinion (and probably Ryan’s) it's never anywhere near soon enough. Nothing against Gavin, Ray’s just not a people person. Which means he's not a discuss-the-extent-and-depth-of-his-relationships person. Gavin’s making a huge deal out of nothing, anyway. Ray’s just less temperamental, more Hulk-palatable.

It makes sense, he guesses, that him and Ryan become better friends after Ray starts running after him on a mission to mission basis. Besides, he's always liked Ryan. When he's not quiet, he's snarky-a winning combination, in Ray's book. It's a natural transition from walking together and making idle conversation, to continuing their idle conversations on the flight back, to Ray commandeering the entirety of Ryan’s couch while he makes tea for himself when they're actually back.

He really likes Ryan, he decides, once he's spent a few months as designated RR (It's funny, because Ryan Retriever and Ray and Ryan. Alliteration’s a riot). Not that he didn't like Ryan before, but it bears stating after the realization that Ryan’s the best friend he's had since he was six. He doesn't say that, because ew, emotions, and also because he's pretty sure Ryan knows, but it's a nice feeling.

So this is how it goes. This is how they go. Ray brings Ryan back and throws him a pair of pants. They make their way back to everyone else, and, depending on what kind of day it's been, they talk about nothing, or they listen to their feet hit the ground. This is how Ray learns a score of amusing anecdotes, some fun facts about Ryan, some fun facts about shit he has no idea why Ryan knows, and some not so fun facts about Ryan. This is when Ray suggests they get BFF necklaces that read BE FRIE and ST ENDS. This is how Ray learns that Ryan’s probably responsible for .002 percent of the entire Diet Coke consumption in the United States. This is when they air their admittedly petty grievances about how damn social every single one of their friends are. This is when Ray eventually realizes he's in love with Ryan.

\---

If nothing else, Hulk is easy to find. Ray follows along a trail of blessedly trackable destruction, and ends up in a forest that's getting significantly less dense by the minute. He finds a clearing that looks suspiciously new, and sure enough, his favorite radioactive giant is tossing a tree away from him.

“Fuck nature, am I right?” Ray’s leant up against a trunk, hoping that his tree in particular isn't the next on the “mindlessly destroy” list.

Hulk’s eyes narrow, but he doesn't move try to rip anything else out of the ground.

“Just thought I’d let you know everyone's headed out. You wanna stay here and stick it to nature, fine with me. Plants are stupid. But I’m leaving, and I’m thinking about ordering from that Thai place you're in love with.”

The Hulk grunts then, takes a couple of steps towards Ray before Ray shakes his head.

“You're a _little_ too big for the plane like this, buddy. You mind shrinking down so you're only half a foot taller than me instead of twelve?”

Another grunt. But Hulk’s straightening up, and he goes from greener than grass to the kind of mint green that’s supposed to be soothing to white as a boy from Georgia.

“Yo,”  Ray says, once Ryan’s standing there. He tosses the shorts that are perpetually on his person.

“Put some clothes on, you scandalous harlot.”

And Ryan blushes, because really, he's just a nerd masquerading as a hot scientist slash superhero.

“You okay, dude?” Ray asks, once his friend is at least partially clothed, because he knows more than anyone else what it's like to have to live with shit you did when you weren't yourself, and Ryan’s looking more guilty and tired than usual (Than usual. How fucked up is that, that Ryan’s default state is worry lines and bags under his eyes and an apology ready to go).

And Ryan lifts into a temporary smile, offers a thumbs up and some mumbling about needing a three course meal and a power nap. He still looks like shit, but Ray lets it go. Sometimes it's nicer to not push.

Ray’s right, as usual. They get back to everyone else, and Gavin monopolizes Ryan, because apparently he's made an earth shattering discovery that he has to share immediately. He sits, because Geoff is already helping Jack out, and Ray knows shit all about piloting. Michael’s next to him, and they watch as Gavin gesticulates and Ryan nods and takes notes on paper he produced from God knows where.

“Fucking nerds,” Michael says, catching Ray’s eye and shaking his head, and Ray’s inclined to agree. They are, indeed, fucking nerds. Not that Ray minds. Gavin’s always been too much for him, whether or not he's in rapid fire science mode. And Ryan’s nice about it, boils down anything he's working on to a Ray consumable concept. It has its perks, too. The day after Ray had gotten out of the hospital, Ryan had handed him an ear piece that was nearly indestructible that he'd been working on instead of sleeping.

“Pretty sure you don't want a repeat of what happened,” he'd said, “This should make it a lot harder to be stranded with no contact.”

And Ray had given him shit for working on that instead of sleeping, but he'd smiled while he said it, and Ryan had smiled back. So Ray’s made his peace with the nerdery.

“It's a little bit much, sometimes,” Michael says, and Ray nods, because he knows Gavin’s zero to one hundred scale throws even Michael when he's not expecting it.

“Gavin's intense.” _Too intense for me_ , he doesn't say, _Right up your alley._

And Michael looks at him, makes sure to catch his eye.

“Ryan’s intense.” Which is- that's the opposite of true. Ryan is comfortable, and understands what a boundary is. Ryan reads articles while Ray leans on him and shoots digital zombies. Ryan doesn't say anything when Ray stumbles onto his floor in the middle of the night, two seconds from hyperventilating and pushing down a nightmare, he just brings him a blanket and hands him a glass of water.

“Nah,” a shrug, a lot of things not said, “He’s not.”

\---

Ray abandons his teriyaki chicken, and orders enough Thai to feed an entire high school while channel surfing. He lands on some documentary about the creepy shit that lives under the sea, and something tells him that's right up Ryan’s alley, so he leaves it on. Ryan knocks and comes in (fully clothed now!) and asks if everyone else is going to come by, and Ray shoots that down immediately. He's tired. Ryan’s tired. Michael and Gavin amplify each other's energy to a point beyond ridiculous (Ray’s not sure if either of them has slept a second, once they met and became caffeine drips for each other). Jack gets antsy, prefers punching a bag to sitting on a couch after a fight. Geoff, maybe, but Ray’s spent too many cool downs with him already. So it's just him and Ryan sucking down noodles and learning way more about blobfish than either of them ever needed to know. And Ray tries, he really does, to figure out how Ryan comes off as intense, but he's just sitting there and looking happy, making jokes, talking about how close he was to going into marine biology, how he used to want to go scuba diving.

\---

Another day, another wave of enemies, another rousing game of “Get Ryan Before Property Damage Is Any More Massive”.

They're walking through a field in Texas (who knew New York didn't hold the monopoly on villainy and evil plans) and it's spring, but still hot as hell.

“Nice flowers,” Ray says, because they are nice. They're blue, and everywhere, and almost make the godawful trek back to the plane less awful.

“Bluebonnets,” Ryan says, because of course he knows all about flowers.

“They've been the state flower since the early 1900’s, but when Highway Beautification passed, they got planted everywhere. It's illegal to pick them, because of the state flower thing.”

“Pretty _and_ off limits,” Ray can appreciate that. Apparently Ryan can, too, because he stops and snaps one by the stem, then digs another up by the root.

“Watch out. That makes you a criminal.” Ray starts walking again, but Ryan shoves the flowers at him. Ray blinks.

“They're not hard to take care of. I can plant that one for you, when we get back. And the other one will look nice until it dies. Like you said. They're nice flowers. Pretty. And it's not like your place is already flooded with bouquets.”

Ray blinks again. His heart and stomach do some move in tandem that would win the gold in gymnastics. This is it, he thinks. This is the straw that breaks the emotionally distant camel’s back and forces the camel to admit he's got a thing for Ryan (Rest in fucking pieces, camel).

“Thanks,” he says, because what else can he say, and he awkwardly holds the bluebonnets in one hand.

When they get there, Gavin makes some quip about the flowers, and Geoff wolf whistles, and Ryan looks like he's going to die of embarrassment, so Ray steps in.

“He grabbed some for all of you, too, but I made him put them back. Fuck that. I’m the only one who gets flowers. I'm the prettiest girl at the ball.”

The teasing dissipates, turns into an argument over which one of them has the best legs for a dress (Michael wins, because his old, not earth, formalwear held a striking resemblance to a dress, and no one can say he wasn't killing it. “Check the mythology books, assholes. I was hot shit,”).

Ryan wanders off to talk to Jack about something important, and Gavin’s engrossed in a very loud conversation with Geoff about a ridiculous bet, and Ray has never been so glad everyone he knows is loud. He pulls Michael to a corner, shakes his fist of plants at his face (but not roughly, because he's not gonna be the one who ruins them).

“He gave me flowers.”

“I see that,” and now Michael’s smirking, and  Ray’s remembering that everyone he knows is an asshole. He punches Michael’s stupidly strong arm.

“You like him.” Another punch to Michael’s other stupidly strong arm, because he doesn't get to figure things out about Ray before Ray does.

“So what.”

“You want my advice?”

Ray sulks out a “no,” but Michael just rolls his eyes and keeps talking anyway. He's Ray’s least favorite person at the moment, definitely.

“He thinks you're the greatest thing in the entire galaxy.”

Before Ray can get out a _shut up, no he doesn't_ , because he's actually twelve, Michael barrels on.

“I’ve hung out with him a lot, but you practically fucking live with the guy.”

That's not true. Practically lives with Ryan. Ha. Ray was at his own place… two weekends ago. Whatever. He doesn't need to prove anything to Michael.

“All you're missing is the making out, and you’d be dating. Add the rings, and you’d be married.”

Alright, no. Not at all true. The smallest bit true.  Only a little true. Michael doesn't have to know that.

“This is what I get when I go to an alien for relationship advice,” he mumbles, and Michael laughs.

“Oh, man, I totally left out the part where you need to prove your worth to him by presenting him with a bucket of snails. Super important to the courting process.”

Ray scowls, gives him one last punch to the arm because Michael can't feel it and he deserves it, and goes to try to find a bottle of water to stick his plants in.

\---

“You're in my bed.”

Hey, Ryan’s back.

“I am. It's huge. I bet seventeen people could fit on it. I don't mean to alarm you, but Gavin interior designed all our places, and I think this is how he's trying to hint about having an orgy with you, him, and fifteen supermodels.”

It works, and Ryan snorts.

“Sadly, I draw the line at ten. I don't know how I’ll break that to him.”

Ray's got a list of ways at the ready, and he's about to fire them off when Ryan starts talking again.

“Is there a reason you're here?”

Fuck.

“Funny story, actually. Gavin’s AI thing says I have clearance to your quarters. All the time. As requested by you.”

“Ah.”

Aaaand that's Ray’s cue that he's overstepping.  

“Which is smart. It's probably easier to automatically let me in than coming to open and unlock for me every time I come to bother you. Anyway. I just had a feeling it was gonna be a bad night, so I was gonna come crash on your couch because it's the comfiest shit in the world, but you weren't here. So I was like, man, my buddy Ryan probably won't mind if I catch a couple of hours on his bed-more comfy than the couch, incidentally, wow-but you're here now! And minding! My bad.”

“I don't mind,” Ryan says, like it’s automatic, and then immediately looks like he regrets it, “I mean, you're already here. And the couch has worked for you, it'll work for me.”

Great, now Ray’s a piece of shit for kicking Ryan out of his own room.

“Hey, like I said, this thing’s enormous. Two people in it still leaves room for fifteen more.”

He can see Ryan hesitate, and he feels bad enough to leave and never come back (well, leave, and not come back for another few hours), but then Ryan nods.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Look, Ray hadn't been joking about how ridiculously big the bed was. He'd extended his arms in both directions and still had more space than he knew what to do with on either side of them. So he doesn't know how to explain gravitating towards Ryan in the middle of the night, and he really doesn't know how to explain the arm slung across his chest, and he _really_ doesn't want to relate either of those things to how it's the least restless sleep he's had in months. But it’s not… Bad. He's definitely not complaining, he's just surprised. And a little bit weirded out, but that's mostly because of the surprise. Something in his chest aches, which is new, and awful, and most definitely Ryan’s fault. Ryan’s stirring next to him, though, so he's out of time to be lovesick.

“Good morning, darling. How'd you sleep? I’m gonna bring you some kickass breakfast in bed. You have cereal around here, right?”

Ryan pulls away from Ray likes he's been burned, and, _ouch_. That stings a bit.

“Sorry, sorry,” is the first thing Ryan says, and Ray resists the urge to sigh for a thousand years. He tries placating.

“No worries. You're ever the gentlemen, even unconscious. Jack, Mr. Chivalrous himself, would be proud.”

Ryan relaxes the tiniest bit at that, stops looking like he's going to run a marathon just to be Not There, and offers to make food. Ray feels the new camel, the one that's aggressively against a declaration of love to Ryan, buckle to its knees, but it's not dead yet.

“I love you,” Ray says, and maybe the camel’s in a more corpse like state than he thought.

“I mean-” He knows what he means. He means he's fucking in love with Ryan. No ifs, ands, or buts. No weak excuses about loving his cooking, or just loving his company, or any other way of writing it off he has the opportunity to pull.

“I mean I’m in love with you.”

And this is it, isn't it. This is when Ryan says he's flattered, but they're just friends, where Ray acts like it’s no big deal and slinks off to his own place, when Ray fucks up the one relationship he thought he thought he had down, and the only thing he has to show for it is a potted plant (that adjusted spectacularly to its new home, and was one of the only reasons Ray bothered to ever go to his depressingly sparse and depressingly Ryan-less floor).

The best word for how Ryan looks is stricken. Like someone's just informed him he's contracted a flesh eating bacterium, instead of telling him they love him. It's not encouraging.

“I'm gonna go, okay?”

And he pats Ryan's knee in a way that's supposed to be… comforting, maybe? He doesn't know, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

Ryan continues to look stricken, and now something that looks akin to panic is surfacing. Great.

“Hey, no hard feelings. I’m good. Stop looking like that. There's an upside to this, which means you can't keep looking like you watched a puppy get murdered. You're harshing my future smug mellow when I rub Michael’s face in how wrong he was.”

“How wrong he was?” Ryan echoes, and how is _that_ the entirety of Ryan’s takeaway from this conversation. But whatever. It beats all the other questions he could be asking.

“He had this whole spiel about how blatantly obvious it is we're into each other.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, and Ray's tempted to repeat his awkward knee pat.

“No one’s blaming you for not noticing. Hell, I'm pretty sure Michael’s the only one who picked up on it, and I’m at least 80% sure that's only because I told him.”

He doesn't know what he's doing. Trying to protect Ryan’s ego, maybe. Trying to make himself sound less pathetic, probably. Whatever. A white lie or two isn't gonna hurt anyone.

“Oh,” Ryan says again, and Ray really needs him to stop doing that.

“Yep.” Ray punctuates with a grin, and goes for another knee pat, because why not.

“Sorry to turn your world upside down, but it's about time you know you're an attractive dude. You're like, number one on the entire world’s “If I could bang an Avenger” list. You're two on mine, though, because if I could get in on some sweet clone action with myself, I would.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, fucking again, Jesus Christ. Ray wasn't expecting him to take it well, but he wasn't expecting it to break him.

“Are you okay?” He asks, because he's legitimately concerned about having permanently fucked up Ryan’s brain.

“Yes?” Ryan says, then, “Yes.” And hey, he'll take it.

“I didn't know,” he continues, and Ray is going to make him an award for understatement of the century.

“I sort of caught that.”

Like Ryan hadn't made it abundantly clear a thousand times over. It seems like he's processed it, at least. Gone is the look that seems like it precedes a heart attack. And he's saying words! Words that aren't oh! Ray could kiss him more than usual.

“I’m sorry.”

Typical Ryan, apologizing for something stupid. Ray’s gonna punch him if he starts giving the pity speech. He must start glaring about the eventuality of the “If things were different…”, because Ryan’s a shade closer to nervous.

“To clarify, I'm sorry I didn't notice before you told me. Repeatedly.”

That… Was not the apology Ray was expecting. He manages a super coherent, super put together, “What,” and Ryan grins. It’s infuriating.

“How upset are you going to be if you don't get to rub your rightness in Michael’s face?”

That's not an answer. That's really not an answer. It's vague and it's doing weird things to Ray’s chest.

“Ryan, please. A real response.”

He’s still grinning, and it's as close to shit eating as Ryan gets. Ray can’t decide if he should be worried or hyped.

“I was never good at dating. Or flirting. Or-the point is, I obviously haven't gotten any better.

“Is that the point?”

Ryan’s smile gets bigger, and he moves close enough to Ray to where there's definitely no room for Jesus.

“Yeah,” he says, and _hello_ , Ryan is kissing him. Ray’s stomach does another move that deserves at least five gold medals, and he’s on cloud fucking nine and he's- he's okay with this outcome.


End file.
